


The Darkness Of My Mind

by griseldalafey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Depression, F/M, PTSD, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, woobie!Gold, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldalafey/pseuds/griseldalafey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WWI-veteran Alexander Gold suddenly finds himself married to Belle French. As he struggles with his memories of the war, his guilt over his perceived cowardice and the growing love for his wife he decides to take drastic actions to ensure her safety once the truth of his transgressions become public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkness Of My Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ssirius-blackk](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ssirius-blackk).



> This is my Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for ssirrius-blackk. I was delighted with her prompt: the darkness of my mind.

_Aberdeen, 1919_

In the end it became the one single thought that remained: he just had to make it home.

He repeated the words in his mind again and again, even as he jogged through the trenches of Somme, sometimes wading knee-deep through mud and feces until his uniform was soaked and doomed to remain damp for days.

He held on to the words as the sounds of gunfire shredded through the night until his ears felt like they were burning and bleeding and he just wanted to run, _run_  and never return.

He sobbed them into the quiet of the night as he hid, curled up underneath sacks of sand, exhausted and frozen, but too terrified to close his eyes and find a moment of rest.

And he let the words drown in his guilt as he buried yet another fellow soldier, digging a quick hole in the filthy mud and trusting the remains of his brothers to the France. 

_He just had to make it home._

But when he finally returned to Britain in the spring of 1918 it appeared to him that the war had only just begun.

* * *

 

For three years he had barely heard anything from his father and brother. That in itself had hardly surprised him. Once the Germans had invaded France and the war had started in Europe he had been the most obvious candidate for enlistment.

 It had been him and not his older brother Killian who had been shipped off to Flanders and later France. Killian, the heir to the Gold estate and the pride and joy of his father’s life had to be protected at all costs.  
He, the inferior youngest son, the redundant spare could easily be risked in a war that was so monstrous that it belied every bit of enlightenment and progress the Western European society had boasted on for the past decades.

But upon his return he had been shocked to discover that his brother _had_  in fact enlisted eventually, but only four months before the attack that had wrecked his own life.

And Killian Gold, the golden boy, the man born for luck and prosperity had only lasted a mere week at Verdun before his company had been shot to pieces.

Unable to deal with the death of his beloved eldest son, Malcolm Gold had literally drunk himself to death in the month that followed and not even the thought of his youngest son, who was still fighting for his life had been enough to bring a semblance of meaning to his existence anymore.

So once he had finally come out of convalescence and made it home, he had found himself to be all alone in the world and heir to an estate that was in dire need of modernization.

He had barely known where to begin. For all of his life Kilian had been groomed for the role of master of Storybooke Hall and now all of a sudden the responsibility solely fell to him.  
Soon it became clear that during the years of his absence his father and brother had indulged heartily in their exuberant lifestyle, no longer cautioned by his hesitant warnings.  
The estate was in quite some debt. The situation wasn’t insurmountable, but serious enough that it required him to take immediate action.  

And eager as he was to leave France and the horrors of the war behind him, he had thrown himself whole-heartily into his new responsibility, starting with conducting a list of debtors who owned him money.

* * *

 

And that was how he had come across Maurice French, a merchant who had been in business with his father and brother for a great many years.  
 Going over the past transactions he had wondered exasperatedly why this particular connection hadn’t been severed years and years ago as Maurice French continued to pull back on deals and fail to deliver promised goods. As a result, the merchant now owned him a rather substantial amount of money and he had been among the first to receive a visit from him to work out an arrangement.

Five minutes into the meeting it had already become clear as rain to him that there wasn’t a single chance French would be able to pay off his debt in the foreseeable future.  Forcing the man to file for bankruptcy was the only way he would ever see a part of his money and he had been ready to take that step when Maurice French had made his surprising offer: in exchange for a lengthy extension on the payment of his debt, he offered him the hand of his only daughter in marriage.

To say he had been shocked by the offer was an understatement and his first impulse was to dismiss the suggestion completely. But as the merchant continued to plead his case, the wheels inside his head started turning and with each passing second the scheme became less ludicrous.  
Even though Maurice French owed him a hefty sum of money, there were other debtors he could collect from in order to keep the estate afloat for the present time and knowing that there was more money coming in in a year or two was a good prospect.

And now that he was the only descended left of the Gold family, the responsibly fell on him to produce a new heir.  For the past months he had studiously pushed the thought of marriage aside, the whole idea of having to court a woman in order to gain a wife filling him with dread.

And of course there also was the Lady West complication. Shortly after he had been presented to society, his brother Killian had formed an understanding with Lady Celina West, an alliance his father had been thrilled about. The West family was made of old money and valuable connections, who would be able to provide their daughter with a considerable dowry. For years the relationship between the two families had been very intimate and after his return to Britain, Alexander Gold had been startled to discover that his entire circle of acquaintances expected him to marry Celina now that his brother had been killed in the war.

But given the choice, he would rather return straight back to the trenches than to agree to a union with Celina West for ever since they had first been introduced, Celina had barely managed to hide her contempt for him, constantly pestering him with thinly veiled insults and taunts for the entire duration of their acquaintance.  
He knew with absolute certainty that he would be miserable for the rest of his life if he were to wed Celina West, but he also knew that finding a wife was mandatory now that he was the master of Storybrooke.

Maurice French’ offer gave him the opportunity to fulfill that duty without much trouble on his part. He new very well that he lacked the charm and the social skills that were required to convince a woman to even consider him and the injury he had sustained during the war only complicated matters further.

In the end the decision had been both simple and swift. He had to marry and it might as well be to Belle French.

* * *

 

He made himself no illusions. After being used like a pawn in a deal in such a fashion, the woman who was now branded as his fiancé would undoubtedly loathe him and the first time he drove to the French mansion to be introduced his insides were shaking with nerves and only by arranging his features into a cold, detached mask he managed to keep himself together.

He was welcomed into the drawing room by a blustering, red-faced, overly cheerful Maurice French and his stomach churned with the awkwardness of it all.

But then he had come face to face with her and for a long moment it felt to him like the world had stopped turning. Right there and then he’d realized she was the loveliest, most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  
She was petite in a way that made him, who was slight of build himself, feel instantly protective of her and as he gazed at the shining, chestnut curls that framed a delicate face of flawless, porcelain skin and brilliant blue eyes, he knew that fate had once again played him a cruel trick.

Because this breathtakingly perfect woman would never look at him with anything but disdain and revulsion.

Belle French deserved the world and everything it had to offer, but instead she was now shackled to a broken, damaged man, a useless monster.

He half expected her to start screaming in vehement protest when her father made the introductions, but instead she was polite in her address, if not a little reserved, her bright blue eyes eying him with frank curiosity.

They sat down and as tea was served they made polite and uncomfortable conversation, him tripping over his own words and frequently losing track of what they were talking about. Soon he discovered that she loved to read and his heart gave an unexpected flutter as he watched her eyes light up with delight as she told him about the latest books she’d been reading. The joy she exuded changed her entire face and he was hopelessly drawn in.

With having spend three years in the trenches he wasn’t exactly up date with the latest publications, but he did manage to recognize some of the titles she mentioned that had been published about eight years ago and he particularly enjoyed the way she was dissecting the character of Peter Pan and Captain Hook from J.M. Barrie’s _Peter Pan_.*  
He couldn’t resist urging her on, loving the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed indignantly as she argued what a selfish, immature person Peter Pan really was.

Halfway through her rant though she suddenly stopped, her face flaming with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry…” she stammered a little sheepishly, biting her lip. “I’ve been talking your ear off… Do forgive me…”

“Please don’t apologize…” he was quick to reassure her, thoroughly charmed by her. “I had just come to the conclusion that having a pair of ears is rather redundant when you think about it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he cringed at how stuffy it sounded, but to his immense surprise she laughed, a warm, heartfelt laughter that filled him with wonder and he went home that night with the firm resolution in his mind to make her laugh like that as often as he could.

* * *

 

 Had he been a better, less selfish kind of man, he would have broken off the engagement then. He had known from the very beginning that such a lovely woman didn’t deserve to be shackled for life to a beastly man like himself.  
Had he’d have the courage he would have put her needs before his own and set her free. But after that first meeting he was enthralled by her warmth and kindness, by the undiluted happiness that radiated from her and his wary, beaten heart latched onto it, so for all his good intentions and resolutions, he was unable to let her go.

He tried to silence the nagging voice of his conscience by arguing with himself that he had made a deal that was - all things considered- very favorable for the French family. He justified his actions by telling himself that Maurice French had other creditors hot on his heels. If French offered the hand of his daughter to a ruffian like Keith Nottingham for instance, her future would definitely look a lot bleaker.

He was resolved to ensure her happiness. He might not be what she wanted and she would never have chosen him of her own accord, but he would try and prove himself to be worthy of her. His Belle would want for nothing, he would see to that and perhaps in time she would come to see him in a more favorable light.

They got married in the summer of 1919, in a very simple, sober ceremony, due to the recent passing of his father and brother.  If Belle resented him for lack of finesse and grandeur to their wedding day, she didn’t let on and immediately after the wedding reception they traveled to Storybooke Hall.

Upon arrival he had given her tour of the house and he had been filled with a curious sense of hope. Their interactions were still awkward and uncomfortable, but he found them to be compatible and despite the newness of it all, he was content and at ease in her company and this feeling was so new to him that he had enjoyed it whole-heartedly. 

Their first months together at Storybooke had passed in this easy manner. He settled into his new responsibilities as master of the estate and worked hard to make up for the neglect and ill-management the lands had suffered under the care of his father and brother.  
During this, Belle had been an enormous source of strength to him and to his delight she thrived in her new role as mistress of the house.  Aided by Mrs Potts, the formidable housekeeper, she had reorganized the household, the staff and the adjourning village and within months the house had begun to prosper under her guidance.  
She had also transformed the village school, unceremoniously sacking the vindictive schoolmaster and his cohorts, hiring competent, caring teachers and installing a curriculum that was far more suitable for farmer's children.    
Aside from that she had turned Storybooke’s library into her personal project, by cataloging and re-shelving the collection into a more logical system and ensuring that parts of the library could also be used by the staff of the house and the teachers of the school.

In doing so she had secured the respect and affection of the community of Storybrooke, who's trust and cooperation with the new patrons had begun to increase noticeably. 

Later he reflected that perhaps he had been too focused on improving the estate and hadn't invested enough in his marriage. When they spoke, they had talked mostly about the estate and sometimes they'd acted more like a pair of stuarts then a married couple. 

But they had been happy during those months and at ease with each other. And as time grew on he had come to admire her even more. Just having her near him, having someone who’s support he knew he could count on filled him with a peace he hadn’t ever known before.

 And one morning as they were having breakfast together and she was telling him amiably about the upcoming meeting of school governors he realized that marrying her had been the single best decision of his life and that he couldn't imagine his life without her anymore. 

It was then that the knew he had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with his wife.

* * *

 

 He spend the first two months after their wedding in a surprising state of contentment, married life proving to be a great deal more fulfilling than he’d expected it to be.

Belle seemed to be complacent with their arrangement. She greeted him with good cheer every morning and seemed genuinely interested in his efforts to improve Storybooke Hall. And for his part, he truly treasured any time he spend with her. She was warm and friendly and the constant kindness she showed him went a long way into soothing his wary heart, frayed by the war and the years of scorn he’d received from his father and brother.

It was wonderful to have someone to come home to, someone who supported and at least pretended to care about his whereabouts. He would never go as far as daring to presume that his increasing tender feelings for her were reciprocated, but he did so enjoy the time he spend with her.

And for a few weeks him allowed himself to believe that it would be enough. That his one-sided affections would be enough to mend the cracks and dents in his heart and erase the horror of the war.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Seemingly from one day to the next the frequency and intensity of his nightmares started to increase. Ever since he had returned from France his dreams had often been plagued with events that happened in the trenches, but as summer turned into autumn, those vague, hazy dreams deteriorated into terrifying nightmares from which he woke screaming and drenched in sweat.

Everything that had happened to him came back hurling in his face and inside his dark, overwrought mind the scenes he so desperately sought to forget became even more gruesome and more horrifying.  
In his nightmares his comrades died again and again, in an endless variety of macabre and grisly ways and the memory of the roaring of the guns mixed with his father’s mocking voice, with his insistence that he was incompetent and weak and always would be.

At first the lack of sleep merely left him groggily and ill-tempered the next day, but as the weeks wore on and his nightmares only became worse, the fatigue began to wear him thin and he started to have hallucinations as well.

The smallest things became catalysts that brought his mind back into the war, to the hell of the trenches. When a door was being closed with too much force he froze, every muscle in his body screaming at him to run and find a shelter to hide in.

And one night, during a particularly heavy autumn storm, when lightning made the skies light up and the thunder roared, causing the windows to clatter and the ancient foundations of the house to shake, he couldn’t keep his fear under control any longer. Fleeing his bed, he hid at the bottom of his wardrobe, curled up in a tight ball, his hands pressed over his ears, weeping and sobbing like a child and feeling utterly disgusted with himself.

* * *

 

He made every effort to keep his struggles away from Belle. She gave him worried, inquisitive glances over breakfast, but he managed to chalk his pale face and the circles underneath his eyes up to his current workload and a mild case of insomnia.

He couldn’t lose her too.  
Not now, not when everything else was slipping through his fingers. Belle was already being incredible accommodating, tolerating their arranged marriage as well as she was, he couldn’t saddle her with the rest of his demons on top of that.

If she knew what kind of pathetic coward her husband was, she would leave him in a heartbeat, deal or no deal.

And apart from that, he _needed_ her. He needed her warmth, her kindness and the comfort that she gave him. He needed to lose himself into her on occasion, the only retreat he had from the flood of crippling memories inside his head.

During their engagement the idea of marital relationships had at first filled him with dread. His innate awkwardness and unease in social situation made it difficult enough to carry out even something as simple as a conversation with her, so the idea of being intimate and becoming so much closer to her made his insides writhe with nervousness.

The best that could be said about their wedding night was that he made it through it and that she didn’t run away from him screaming.

But after several weeks and encounters something began to swift. During his years in the army he had picked up enough from the stories and conversations around him to have a least a theoretical knowledge of what it took to please a woman and in a desperate attempt to make it at least somewhat bearable for her, he applied himself to putting all that knowledge to practice.  
Judging from her reactions, he managed to make their time together at least mildly pleasurable for her, although he made himself no illusions that this was anything more than a small compensation for the dreadful reality she now found herself in.

He did try to keep away, kept telling himself that it was beneath him to demand something from her that must cause her so much vexation. But for all of his efforts, he eventually always gave in.  
He simply craved her nearness and her soothing softness.  In her bed, in her arms he could forget about the horrors of the war, even if it was only for a little while.

But sometimes even being with her wasn’t enough to keep his mind from slipping to a dark place where even her warmth and kindness couldn't follow.   

Sometimes it was all but impossible to touch her, to brush his fingers across the porcelain smoothness of her skin because he feared that his mere touch would contaminate her. In his troubled mind he could picture her skin turning black and decaying wherever her touched her, because his hands were now instruments of death.

And when he kissed her soft lips, he could hear every curse, every expletive he had uttered in the trenches, could hear all the times he had opened his mouth to cry an affirmation when the order to kill came through.

 The hands that touched her silky, perfect skin had maimed and killed countless men only months earlier.

And when he sank into her, his body drumming with the thrill of life and love, all he could think off were the lives he’d taken.

Belle was too good, too pure and too precious for that and on those nights he tried to keep himself from touching her and finish his business as quickly as he could, so she wouldn’t have to suffer any longer than strictly necessary.

Yet on other nights he couldn’t stay away from her. She was everything he could ever wish for and infinitely more than that. In those moments he was enthralled by her and couldn’t even his guilt and self-loathing keep him away.  
On those nights he touched her reverently, tracing his fingers slowly over every inch of her velvety soft skin, pressing gentle, adoring kisses to her face and neck, reveling in her quiet sighs and whimpers. In moments like that she was truly and wholly his and he knew in his soul that she was everything he needed.

On those nights he pulled her close afterwards and listened to her breathing evening out as she fell asleep either on his chest or with him curled around her, her back snug against his chest, his arms secure around her. When she slept in his arms like that, he allowed himself to pretend that it was all real.

That Belle loved him and had married him out of love and estimation. That she welcomed his presence in her life as much as he craved hers.  When he held her like that, his nose buried in her silky curls, surrounded by her intoxicating warmth, he imagined that she was slowly but surely melting the ice that had guarded his heart for so many years. He drank in her scent and her nearness, greedily soaking up every bit of comfort and strength she was offering him, knowing he would need every ounce of it and more to face the day that was coming.

Those nights in her bed were his only sanctuary but he was always careful not to feel asleep, not to give in to the maddening temptation of closing his eyes and following her into a land of dreams.  
For one thing, she wouldn’t appreciate waking up in the morning with him clinging to her. It was bad enough that he came to her in the first place, but prolonging their time together was adding insult to injury.  
And then there were the nightmares that plagued him so frequently that he couldn’t risk falling asleep next to her if he wanted to avoid waking her with his screaming and trashing as the terror overtook him.

So he allowed himself an hour or an hour and a half at most before he slowly and carefully as not to wake her, disentangled himself from her and slipped out of the cocoon of warmth and comfort they had created together with a bleeding heart, missing her and longing for her already, even before he had climbed out of her bed.

Returning to his own, cold bedroom and his empty, unwelcoming bed was the single hardest thing he had to do and yet, like the coward he was, he always fled back, unable to face the possibility of losing the little they had together.

Alone in the dark, he continued to fantasize about the life that could have been if he were a better man. If he were whole and strong and cut a more impressive figure, knowing that when morning came his dressing room’s mirror would remind him of the harsh reality: he was a slight, scrawny man who had aged prematurely and was already showing noticeable streaks of grey in his ash brown hair and who’s body was marred and damaged by the war.

The explosion that had send him home from the front had shattered his right knee and left him with burn scars on his back and neck and he was all too well aware of how much more off-putting he now looked.

Before the war he had been utterly unlovable because of his unappealing character. Even his father and brother hadn’t managed to find it within them to treat them with kindness.

And now he had the appearance to match it. He was both inside and out a monster.

Ever since they first got married he had made a point of turning out the light as soon as he got in bed with her and shed his clothes. Feeling her touch his scars had always made him flinch in embarrassment, but in those dark months he had become almost paranoid.  
Whenever he was with her he avoided her eyes, afraid of seeing the revulsion and disgust in them. 

And yet he couldn't keep away from her either. He ached for her warmth when everything around him was dark and cold, for the perfect smoothness of her soft skin when he could only see terror and devastation in his mind, for her sweet, fresh taste and smell while all he could taste was dirt and death. He couldn’t let her see him for what he truly was, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t yearn to see her.  
When he trailed his fingers over her face and hair and listened to the soft sounds she made as he managed to please her, he tried to imagine what her face looked like in that moment.

He tried to picture her smile and her brilliant blue eyes, alight with love and desire for him and then he remembered himself and what a fool he was.

She never once refused him when he came to her, which continued to fill him with a sense of bafflement. She always gave him what he wanted, let him take what he needed. She was his lifeline, the one place he found a semblance of peace.

He did realize how difficult it must be for her, being married to a scarred, introspective shell of a man who had just come out of a war. Who's eyes had seen unspeakable horror, who's hands had killed and had touched dead and decay. He didn’t deserve her, not her smile, nor her nearness or her kindness. He had nothing to offer her, had given her nothing, apart from a ton of responsibilities and a broken, self-centered husband. 

She was the light of his life and she was the only one who would be able to heal and soothe the pain of his past.

If only he deserved such mercy.

* * *

 

In the months after the war had ended more and more stories and particulars of the trenches resurfaced. The experiences of the men who had survived the trenches of Somme, Verdun, Ypres, Vilenne and many other places across Flanders and the north of France were written down in newspaper articles, magazines, pamphlets and newly published books.

He read everything he managed to get his hands on, but instead of looking out for the stories of heroes and survivors he anxiously scanned the pages for something else all together, soon discovering the horrifying facts:

Over the course of the war over three hundred soldiers had been tried and executed on the charge of cowardice. The accusations ran from ‘desertion’ to ‘cowardice’ and on later occasion: ‘disobedience’ and ‘casting away arms’.  

From his own experience he knew that a number of these men must have only been boys during the time of the trial. Especially near the end of the war some of the freshly arrived soldiers were no older than fifteen years old.

Many of those men had been shot straight after the court martial had been conducted, the army being eager to set an example and rid itself of any undesirable elements.  

And then there were the cases of the conscious objectors who either served prison time when they continued to refuse to enlist for the war or forced to join a non-Combatant corps. For the families of these convicts the war hadn’t ended after the capitulation of Germany as they were scorned and ridiculed because of the actions of their husbands, sons and brothers and as he poured over the articles, Gold often wondered how many generations were to feel the shame and censure of these supposed transgressions.

And with every case he read up on, dread and tension coiled in his stomach as he realized how any of these men could have been him.

Should have been him.

The particulars of the explosion that had injured him to such an extent that he had been send home weren’t known to anyone but him, but he lived it fear every waking moment that eventually his ugly secret would be discovered and his cowardice would be brought to light.

Even at the end of the war the trenches had continually been swamped with people. Someone must have seen him, someone must have noticed.

Cowardice, desertion, shamefully casting away arms in the face of the enemy… it was only a matter of time before the truth would come out and then his life would crumble to pieces.

He wondered endlessly if he would be executed if it came to a court martial, or that he would receive a lengthily prison sentence instead.

Either way, he would lose his estate, his reputation, his dignity and everything that mattered to him.

He would lose Belle.

She could perhaps tolerate being married to a weak, crippled excuse of a man, but she would not stand by a convicted coward. Belle, who was so brave and fearless herself, who faced challenges and hardship with her head held high and a single-minded determination to make the best out of every situation would be disgusted by him.

And what was worse: if he was convicted, either to prison or the firing squad, he would no longer be able to provide for her and take care of her. She would be cast out of her home without money to her name or any means of protection.  
She would probably return to her father, but with his business still in so much financial trouble he would hardly be able to assist her in any way.

If his past caught up with him it would hurt her far more than it would hurt him and the thought was insupportable.  
He deserved every censure, deserved to be publicly shamed, degraded and shot, but sweet, innocent Belle had to be protected at any cost. She was his entire world, the most beloved, most precious one in his life and he couldn’t bear the thought of any harm coming to her. She had given him so much with her effortless kindness, her smiles and her support.  
A shimmer of light in the darkness, a taste of happiness and love that he had never known before and had come to crave more than anything.

He had to do right by her. He was a cursed man and his damnation was near. And he would pull her with him in his downfall.

Unless he saved her.

Eventually a plan began to form inside his head and although his heart shrank away from its implications, his mind and his determination were quick to convince him that this was the only possible course of action.

If he divorced her she would be free from him when the trial started. People would judge her far less harshly if she had already distanced herself from him before the truth got out and she wouldn't have to deal with the humiliation of being married to a convicted criminal.  
If he divorced her before the trial he could ensure her comfort and financial stability before his credibility and inheritance got shot to hell.  

He would find her an apartment in London, somewhere near a library or a bookstore where she could set up an independent household. He could set up a trust fund in her name, or open an account for her and transfer enough money for her to live comfortably. Money that was entirely hers and couldn’t be touched by anyone, even after his conviction.

It would probably ruin Storybooke Hall before he even set foot in the courtroom, but at least Belle would be safe and well provided for. She had given him the world and this way he was able to repay her a fraction of it.

It would break his heart to end their marriage, to live out his remaining months without her by his side, but once he could be certain that all of his affairs were in order and Belle was happily settled into her new life, he would finally do the honorable thing and face up to his failures.

He would turn himself in and accept the consequences of his actions.

But before he did that, he had to ensure that Belle would want for nothing.

* * *

 

He quickly discovered that if one had enough money it was shockingly easily to discreetly arrange for a divorce. Since he was legally obliged to give a reason for wanting to end his marriage he claimed infidelity on his part, not wanting to tarnish Belle’s name in any way and petitioned the divorce to the court.

Then, under the guise of going on a business trip, he went to London to find Belle an apartment and the four day separation from her already shred his heart to pieces. His missed her every second he was away from her and only the thought that she would still be home and waiting for him once he returned gave him the will power to go through with his plan.

Eventually he found a lovely townhouse in Kensington with bright, spacious rooms and a beautiful garden. The house breathed Belle, from the pale-blue wallpaper in the drawing room to the cherry wood floor.

The house needed some minor renovations and once he had arranged for workmen to come and make the improvements he found himself with an actual timeframe.  
It would take six weeks before the work was complete and Belle could move in.

Six weeks until he had to give her up.

* * *

 

The night he returned from London was the last night he went to her room.

He knew it was despicable to demand her attention when he was planning to leave her, but he needed one last night to make memories. One last night to commit every detail to his mind so that he would have something to draw strength from during the lonely nights that awaited him once she was gone.

That night he loved her for hours, trailing his fingers and lips over every inch of her skin, exploiting all the knowledge he had gained in the past months as to how to please her the most, trying to tell her without being able to say the words how much he loved her and how sorry he was.

And when she finally fell asleep on his bare chest, sated and exhausted he held her tightly against him, tenderly stroking the soft curls that framed her face, trying to fight back the bile that was rising up in his throat.

Tears trickled down his temples, but he made no attempt to brush them away, his hands being too preoccupied with holding her for as long as he could.  
She sighed against his shoulder and snuggled closer against him and for the last time he lost himself in the warmth of her body, in the softness of her skin and her sweet scent.

He would save her against any price. Even if in the days that followed he would have to rip out his heart and crush it, he would do it without blinking his eyes.

He would save her at all costs.

* * *

 

Once he got the confirmation that his petition for a divorce was under consideration he raised the subject after dinner.

On beforehand he had no real idea what her reaction would be, although he had played out several different scenarios in his mind, each one more painful than the other.

She could be relieved that he was giving her her freedom back and although seeing the look of alleviation on her face would break his heart, it would perhaps be the best outcome for her.

A part of him suspected that she might be very angry with him. Despite the fact that this marriage was pushed on her she could resent the fact that he was ending it on his terms. Hopefully in that case the arrangements he had made for her would go a long way to settle her indignation.

And perhaps she would hardly respond at all and that would perhaps hurt him the most. That she was so indifferent to him that she didn’t care either way.

He had expected various different responses, but nothing could have prepared him for the way the blood drained from her face and her eyes went dark with shock as he announced his intention to terminate the marriage.

For long moments she stared at him, standing rigidly still, her face pale to her lips, her breathing growing shallow.

“B-but… why?” she eventually managed, her voice barely audible and his insides twisted as he realized her relief or her anger would have been infinitely easier to bear.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re not a good match,” he ventured eventually, hiding his own pain behind a carefully arranged mask of self-control.

She shook her head and looked away, pushing a strand of hair away from her face with a shaking hand.  
When she looked back at him, her eyes were desperate and filled with disbelief.

“In what way?” Her lips were trembling and her blue eyes, usually beaming with happiness and warmth were suspiciously bright and he had no idea how to answer her question.

How did you tell the sweetest, the most wonderful woman in the world that you no longer wanted her? What plausible reason could he possible give her?

Briefly he toyed with the idea of using the same argument he had used when he’d filed for their divorce and confess to an adultery that had never taken place but everything inside him rebelled at the very thought. Worthless and despicable as he might be, his vows to Belle were sacred to him and he couldn’t even pretend to have broken them to her face.

“Do you find me lacking in my duties as mistress of Storybrooke?” she asked haltingly, pinning him with a desolate gaze. “Am I a disappointment to you?”

She was handing him the reasons on a silver plate and he slammed a lit down on every single one of his emotions as he looked at her with an impassioned face and nodded.

* * *

 

Even though he still saw her every day in the weeks that followed, he had effectively lost her after that conversation. Once he had finally convinced her that he indeed wanted to end their marriage, using the arguments she supplied him with, the quiet, tentative understanding that had lived between them since their first meeting had shattered to pieces and he was surprised to discover how much of a relationship they had shared now that it was completely gone.

He had always been under the impression that she had been unhappy being married off to him, pushed towards a man she hardly knew and had very little to offer her and he had attributed to her sweet disposition and strong character that she had been able to meet him everyday with a perfect countenance and even managed to spare him smiles and kind words.  
But now that their marriage was unraveling, she was pulling away from him more and more and his heart shattered along with it.

In the days after their painful discussion he had occasionally bumped into her around the house and each and every time she had looked at him with big, sad eyes, looking at him as if she wasn’t understanding what was happening between them and after a few days his firm resolve and conviction that he was doing the right thing began to crumble.

Because she looked as heartbroken as he felt and looking at her pained expression and the dark circles underneath her eyes made him start to waver.  Everything inside him screamed at him to retract his words, to pull her close once more and confess his love to her, begging her to stay with him, to give him a chance to become a man who was worthy of her love and respect.

But when he pictured himself being arrested by military police and sentenced to death for desertion, her name being dragged through the mud along with his and all her resources being taken from her in the aftermath of his conviction, he gritted his teeth and held on.

To his surprise she barely responded to his assurances that she would be well provided for once their marriage had been dissolved. She showed no interest in her new place in London or the financial statements of the account he’d set up in her name and showed enough balance for her to live comfortably from the interest alone.

Instead she began to avoid him more and more until one day, about two weeks later a definite note of hostility began to creep into her tone the few times she did speak to him.

And he understood. She did resent him now, which was just at well. At least it wouldn’t hurt her anymore when she discovered the truth about him.

And alone in his bed, longing for her love and her nearness, he tried to convince himself that things were going just according to plan.

* * *

 

He tried to hold on to the last days he got to spend with her. Even if she barely glanced his way anymore she was still his wife for a fortnight longer and her presence made the house they still shared into a semblance of a home.

Then one morning, when he had adjourned to his study after a breakfast they no longer shared, she entered quietly, clutching a letter in her hand and a determined expression on her face.

“Alexander, I have something to tell you,” she announced softly and for a moment he was so shocked that she was actually talking to him that he forgot to say anything and just gaped at her.

“I have written to my father,” she continued, “and I have explained our… difficulties. This morning I received word from him that he is willing to welcome me back to my childhood home. I will be leaving this afternoon…”

At her words his heart stopped and for a moment he couldn’t breath. Intellectually he had known of course that this moment was coming, that she would eventually leave, but he was supposed to have two more weeks with her in which he could fool himself into thinking that he would be able to let her go then.

 But he couldn’t now. Not today. No like this.

She couldn’t leave now and return to her father when he had prepared a whole new life for her.

This at last finally snapped him out of his stupor and he shook his head frantically.

“Belle… please… there is no reason for you to leave already…” he started, wincing at the pleading undertone he heard in his voice. “I told you about the house in London… it will be ready for you in two weeks time… a week if you insist… I can tell the workmen to hurry the renovations… you don’t have to return to your father, you’ll have a place of your own… it’s all taken care off…”

“You mean you’ve arranged everything already,” she shot back bitterly and he was shocked to hear the ire in her voice.

It was the tone of her voice that tore through him. She was one of the few people in his life who had ever looked at him with anything akin to kindness. She had bestowed her smiles on him, had offered him her companionship and sometimes, in his most desperate moments, he had dared to believe that she could care about him a little.  
Now her eyes were as cold and resentful as his father’s had been and it hurt endlessly more.

“I have,” he consented quietly to her accusation. “You’ll be an independent woman once the divorce comes through. You won’t have to answer to anyone… you’ll want for nothing, I’ve seen to that.”

  
The words were intended to put her at ease and relief her of her worries. Instead they only seemed to infuriate her. Bright red spots appeared in her neck as she shook with barely contained fury.

“Why even trouble yourself?” she sneered, her eyes flashing at him. “You’ve made your choice already. If you’d rather be with this other woman, then why bother to keep providing for me too? If you think you can buy me off you’re very wrong!”

He gaped at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, his brain unable to catch up with her words.  

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve found someone you’d rather be with,” she answered dejectedly, bowing her head to hide the expression on her face. “And I can… understand that to some extend… but I won’t be… maintained as some sort of kept woman… If you choose her, then our marriage will be truly and completely over.”

“Belle… there isn’t anyone except you…” he spoke the words before he could contemplate the wisdom of them and he watched her flinch away from him like he had struck her.

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped hoarsely, wrapping her arms around herself. “I telephoned the courthouse last week… I wanted to know what you’d put on those papers… they told me you listed infidelity on your part as reason for the divorce…”

“No… Belle!” With two steps he was in front of her and he didn’t even need to debate with himself about setting her straight anymore. She was hurting and that was insupportable.

“Belle… I have never betrayed you… not like that at least. There isn’t anyone else for me but you… I can’t even think of being with someone else… I only said that because I needed a reason to file those papers…”

When she looked up at him, her cheeks were glistering with tears and her gaze was a mixture of anger, hurt and confusion.  

“So why divorce me then? Am I such a failure at being your wife that you rather have people believe that you’ve broken your vows than to stay married to me?”

“ _No,_  of course not!” he shouted back, feeling the panic claw at his chest as he realized he was losing his self-control. Taking a deep breath he forced himself to calm down.

“But I know this marriage isn’t what you want… I know you were trapped into it… I’m trying to do right by you!”

“By _leaving_  me?” she asked incredulously, a fresh wave of tears tricking down her face.

“By making me believe our marriage means nothing to you? I thought we were happy… I loved you…”

She broke off abruptly, raising a shaking hand to wipe at her tears and he stared at her, feeling her words reverberate through him.

“Wh-what?” he managed eventually. “What did you say?”

She sighed dejectedly, once again looking everywhere except at him.

“I love you, Alexander. And I truly believed we had something good together… but apparently I was wrong….”

“Sweetheart…!” He barely recognized the hoarse cry that was his own voice and then he was moving, faster than he’d ever moved in his life, crossing the room towards her, his cane clattering to the ground without him even noticing it, reaching out both of his hands to grab her and to pull her tightly against him.  
She made a strangled noise of surprise when he crushed her to his chest, his arms coming up around her to hold her almost painfully tight, one of his hand burying itself into her soft hair to guide her head backwards a little so he could claim her lips in a bruising, frantic kiss.

His other hand rubbed feverishly over her back, trying to melt her into him and he almost sobbed as he felt her body go soft in his arms, her arms coming up around his shoulders, her hands threading themselves through his hair.

“Belle… _Belle..._ ” he tore himself from her long enough to whisper her name ardently against her lips and then he claimed her mouth again and stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, desperate for the taste of her.  
She immediately granted him access, her mouth warm and welcoming and he drowned in her warmth and sweetness.

Nothing was resolved between them. Ultimately, this changed nothing, but she loved him - _loved him_  - and he needed her more than he needed his next breath.

When she started to respond to his kiss, her fingers tightening on his hair, her nails softly scratching his scalp, he growled quietly against her lips and let him lose himself in her for long, luxurious minutes during which he poured all the love and passion he felt for her and bottled up for so long into her.

Eventually they broke apart and he nuzzled his face into her hair, feeling his body unclench as she snuggled against him.

“I love you too, Belle,” he whispered against her curls and when she made a soft, happy noise of contentment against his chest, his heart melted.

“I’m glad we’re all right now,” she told him softly, hugging him closer. “I was so afraid…”

His breath caught in his throat at her words and he pulled back to gape at her in wonder.  
She wanted him, he realized. She truly wanted to be with him.

And she didn’t have the first clue of how undeserving he was of such affection.

“My darling Belle…” he started, feeling as if his throat had turned into gravel. “I am _so_ sorry…”

She pulled back as well, the look of contentment on her face giving way to one of shocked dismay.

“You still want a divorce?” she asked aghast.

There was such a turmoil of fears and emotions inside his head that he barely managed to make sense of it, let alone form a sentence.

“It’s not about what I want… It’s… it’s better this way, you’ll see…”

“You love me, but you still don’t want to be married to me?” Slowly anger was slipping back into her voice.

“Why is that? You love me, but you need a wife who is more capable? Or who is of better standing?”

“No!” he cried, cupping her face in his hands. “Belle… you are wonderful! You are everything I ever wanted.” His voice shook dangerously as he spoke and tears started to roll down over his cheeks.  
“And everything I didn’t even know I wanted. You’ve brought happiness to my life and light… I would have been lost without you… ruined… but you made me stronger, you gave me something worth living for again and I love you so much. You’ve become my whole world and you’ve made it so much better. No matter what happens, I will always cherish what we had… I will always be grateful for that…”

She was crying just as much as he was now, her hands clinging to his shoulders and he clumsily wiped at her tears with his thumbs in a helpless attempt to soothe her.

And then she was smiling through her tears and some of the tension seemed to have flown out of her. Instead she lifted a shaking hand and cupped the side of his face, her fingers stroking his hair.  
He leaned into her touch with a sigh, wishing he could stay in this moment forever.

But it wasn’t to be and looking into her eyes, shining with hope and love, he finally found the courage he’d been lacking before.

Belle deserved to know the truth.

* * *

 

Talk to me,” she implored him gently. “What is troubling you?”

Carefully he untangled himself from her arms by taking a step back. By the time he’d have finished his story she wouldn’t want to be near him anymore and having her push him away in disgust would hurt infinitely more then letting her go now.

“I’m a coward, Belle…” He started, deciding to come out with the truth straight away. “And it’s only a matter of time before I’m discovered… before I’ll have to answer to a judge for my actions… or lack thereof…”

She blinked, a confused frown creasing her forehead. “But… you fought for the entire duration of the war… you didn’t come back until the very end… how would anyone consider you to be a coward?”

“But I didn’t fought for the entire duration of the war,” he pointed out warily. “I came home months before the war ended.”

“Because you were injured!” she exclaimed, taking a few steps closer to him.

“Alexander, they send you home because you were wounded! I You’re lucky you didn’t die… If they hadn’t found you, you…”  
She shuddered suddenly as if the thought of what would have happened if he had stayed in that trench was to horrible to contemplate.

He would have died.

But he would have died a hero.

“But you don’t know how I got myself injured…” he said quietly, the full weight of his guilt and humiliation settling on his consciousness.

But she was in front of him once more, taking his hands between her own.

“Will you tell me?” she implored quietly and the tender compassion in her eyes and voice was almost too much to bear.|  
It both gave him strength and terrified him.

He nodded jerkily and took a deep breath to steel himself.

“It was in the early spring and the fighting had been intense all week. The gunfire didn’t cease for hours on end and there were only very brief pauses in between. I don’t think I had slept more then a few hours in four days time. On top of that it was raining heavily and the trenches were drenched, some parts even becoming impassable. And still we continued to fight on. The night of the explosion… I was by myself in a trench near the front. That in itself was unusual, we normally tended to stick together. But the gunfire had just ceased and in the confusion and chaos of the moment I had become separated from the rest of my unit and I found myself alone. We were ordered to shoot at everything that moved and while I was positioned there I saw a group of men approach. I assumed they were German soldiers and I just started to fire away…”

He took another deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the hardest part that was to come now. Belle was holding on his hands tightly, her blue eyes dark with horror and sadness, fresh tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.  
He lifted their joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on her knuckles, allowing himself one last affectionate moment before the ugly truth spilled out.

“One of the men threw something towards me and I knew instantly that it was a grenade. I just started running, trying to get away as fast as I could, but then I slipped in the mud and fell… And I knew… knew that I had to get up, had to keep moving, return to my unit and warn them, but… all of a sudden as I lay there… it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I didn't want to fight anymore, I didn’t want to run… I was ready to die and have it over with… So instead of getting up and fighting, I threw my gun aside and waited for the grenade to explode. And when it did… half of the trench collapsed on top of me, my leg got stuck underneath something heavy and I remember it hurting terribly, but not really noticing the pain at same time. Some of the wood caught fire and it burned for a little while… that’s how my back got burned… but everything was so sodden that the fire died out quickly and then it began to rain too… I was thinking that it would all be over soon.”

Tears were pouring down her face, but she was still holding on to him, so she still didn’t understand yet then. She didn’t yet comprehend what a despicable being he was. And therefore he carried on:

“When I woke up I was in a field hospital. The doctors told me they had managed to salvage my leg, but that my knee was ruined and that I would walk with a limp for the rest of my life. They also told me that my entire unit was dead… there had been three more grenade attacks and everything had gone up flames… I was only one they had managed to pull out of the debris alive.

If I had only warned them… if I hadn’t given up… they would have survived. Or at least some of them would have. No one there knew what I had done and I didn’t dare to tell a soul…

Once I was stable enough they send me back to Britain.  I got a medal and my wages… they call me war hero and they have no idea what kind of fraud I am.”

He finally fell silent, his voice hoarse from talking and unshed tears and he held his breath, waiting for her censure.

“You are _not_  a fraud!” Her voice was almost harsh with indignation, her face set with determination. “And neither are you a coward!”

He blinked at her, her words rebelling against everything he believed himself.

“Belle… people were executed for the same crime I’ve committed. ‘shamefully casting away arms in the face of the enemy?’ You barely get a court marital for that…  And I deserve the same punishment… but you… Sweetheart, if you’re still married to me the day I am convicted, they’re going to take everything away from you. The estate, the money… you’ll be left with nothing… They’ll brand you a coward’s wife and will scorn you because of me…  
But if you divorce me now, I can make provisions for you… I can ensure you’ll be comfortable and looked after… you can lead the life you’ve always dreamed of and I won’t be there anymore to hold you back…”

The more he talked, the more furiously she continued to shake her head until she finally let go of his hand and pressed her fingers over his mouth in attempt to shut him up.

“Alexander, stop it!” she told him firmly and he cut off mid-sentence with a sharp intake of breath.

He realized that he was shaking and when she released his other hand, his hands settled instinctively on her waist, desperate for something to hold on to, to steady him.  
Her hands moved back into his hair, softly stroking the strands on the side of his face and the back of his neck. He shuddered again, feeling the stress and panic flow out of him underneath her soothing touch.

“You’re not a coward,” she repeated, her voice calmer now, but laced with the same, strong conviction. “And there won’t be a trial and you won’t be executed. No one has been convicted since the war has ended and they’re not going to start with you.”

A small, logical part of his brain latched on her words. There hadn’t been any trials since the treaty had been signed… no one had stepped forward to accuse him of anything…

“And furthermore,” she continued, pressing herself closer against him and wrapping her arms around his neck, “we are _not_  getting a divorce.”

“Belle…” he ignored the hopeful flutter of his heart as he searched her face. “Sweetheart, I know you were coerced into this marriage… you would never have agreed to it of your own free will… this is your chance to get out of it.”

To his immense surprise she simply laughed at his words, shaking her head with mild exasperation.

 “Alexander… do you honestly think I would have agreed to marry you if I truly hadn’t want to?”

“You- you wanted to marry me?” he stammered, completely taken aback.

“Oh I was furious with my father for proposing such a deal,” she informed him. “And I didn’t plan on going through with it… but ever since the first time I met you I felt… drawn to you… I liked you so much and I thought we could have something good. And I was right… we were married for only a couple of weeks when I realized that I loved you…”

“But… _why?_ ” he managed to choke out, his fingers digging almost painfully into her waist. It seemed impossible that she should love him. There was nothing about him that aroused such sentiments.  
Then again, she might love him from the goodness of her heart, that made more sense.

“Because you’re wonderful,” she answered, a shy smile lighting her face. “You are always kind to me… you treat me like I’m something precious. You’ll do anything to protect me and to make me happy and comfortable… but what’s more, you respect me… you listen to me… you’ve given me a purpose again.  I love being mistress of Storybooke Hall. I know that I have so many things still to learn, but it’s wonderful to be doing something worthwhile. You’ve just made me so happy…”

He couldn’t help himself. At her words, he captured her lips in a soft, tender kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.  

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, long moments later. “But I’ll never let you go.”

She pulled back to look at him, her gaze a mixture of hope and insecurity and it took him a few seconds to realize what she was wordlessly asking for.

Lifting her left hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her wedding band and looked hopefully into her eyes.

“Will you stay with me? Will you be my wife? Always?”

“Yes!” she answered with conviction before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly.

“Just… promise me that you won’t try to send me away again… I couldn’t bear it again.”

“I'm sorry,” he replied earnestly. “I thought I was doing the right thing… I’ll never willingly give you up again… I don’t have the strength for it.”

“Good,” she murmured, burying herself in his arms again. “I won’t have it any other way.”

* * *

 

For the first weeks after they had confessed their feelings he was blissfully, abundantly happy. Just to be able to draw her close whenever he felt like it, knowing that she welcomed his touches and embraces filled him wonder. He loved her and he loved to love her and bask in her love in return and for a few weeks he truly believed that everything in his life was all right now.

And then a second wave of depression hit him, in many ways far harder and more wrecking than the first one, as if his subconscious knew that he had someone to fall back on now and decided to open the gates and let all of his past hurt and pain come pouring out.

The nightmares returned as well as the episodes where he just froze when hearing a loud noise. Throughout it all, Belle stood by him unwaveringly. She refused to sleep in separate bedrooms any longer, even though he pointed out that his nightmares would severely impact her sleep.  
Instead she brought him down from his terror-filled dreams and allowed him to wrap himself around her as he settled back to sleep, clinging to her as if she were his anchor.

On a few occasions she found him huddled in the wardrobe and without saying a word she climbed right in to sit beside him and take him in her arms until the tremors had passed.

She made inquiries and found a small support group of service men who met every week to discuss their experiences during the war and the way they were still impacting their lives. It was incredibly hard at first to open up to these unfamiliar men, but as the weeks grew on he began to realize how much lighter he felt after each meeting and how beneficial it was to talk things through with men who had gone through exactly the same.  
And when after a while he was able to offer his support and advice of his own to new men that joined their group he felt for the first time in his life that he was doing something truly meaningful.

Working through his past - both the war and the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father - was perhaps the hardest thing he ever had to do and marked the darkest period of his life.  
And yet, throughout it all, Belle was his light, his beacon of hope.  
Because no matter how bad it got, she was there to comfort him.

Sometimes he felt guilty for the way his issues put a damper on what should have been their carefree first year of marriage.  But the few times he attempted to voice these thoughts to Belle she made it clear as rain that all she cared about was that they were together.

And even if he could scarcely believe her words, it was impossible to argue with the evidence that was presented to him each day: Belle was glowing with happiness ever since he had opened up to her and told her he loved her.  
Even if he lived to be a hundred years old, he would never grow tired of the look of elated joy on his wife’s face whenever he told her he loved her.

 And so he told her that at every opportunity he got, drinking in her happiness and reveling in the joy he was able to give her. He also let no opportunity go to waste to tell her what a wonderful wife and mistress of Storybooke she was as he was rather shocked to discover that her insecurities and doubts about this had caused her many sleepless nights in the early months of her marriage.

It seemed impossible that anyone as perfect and talented as Belle could doubt her abilities even in the slightest, but he was more than happy to bestow all the praise and adoration on her in order to convince her of her competence.

And as the weeks wore on he began to notice a subtle, but significant difference that thrilled him. Secure in her position and his support, she became more outspoken and more certain of how she wanted to handle her responsibilities and Storybooke thrived all the more under her new found confidence.

And when finally the first signs of spring made themselves known he started to notice that he himself was getting better. The nightmares became less frequent and less intense and he became better at controlling his fraught thoughts.

Suddenly the future no longer filled him dread, but with a budding confidence of his own.

And when Belle told him that they would welcome their firstborn around Christmas that year he knew he had finally made it home.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find any evidence of soldiers being executed for cowardice after WWI had ended. The last executions date from the final months of the war. 
> 
> J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan was published in 1911.


End file.
